Of poems and nostalgia

I’m a very sentimental person. I hold on to things; people, memories, receipts, candy wrappers, journals, torn shirts (mama hates this particularly).

Some see this as a vice. I don’t. I love that I love a lot, that I like to remember things and details and first meetings and smells and the like. My friend is reading Mama Maya’s I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. I saw it earlier in a math lecture and I damn near broke down because wow. The flood of memories that came with seeing that book were intense. There’s an old copy at home that’s probably Dusty and torn but its still one of my most treasured books because its one of those books I call mine when in actual fact they are “home books”- but you get it, its mine.

Mama Maya is the best to ever do it. And by it I mean be the best there is. She is an inspiration to me not just as a writer but as a young black woman. Her memories, her words, her writing is still alive. I tried reading this book in my teens and hated it. I don’t even know why, I guess maybe because it didn’t have the Sweet Valley Twins fun and quirky plot. I read it again when i was maybe eighteen and fell in love. The last time I read was two years ago and I think I should read it again this year.

This is for mama Maya. Rest in perfect peace superwoman.

Decided to share the poem here because my mind has been reciting it all afternoon. It’s still a gem.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

 

Also, I got some amazing news this evening. I am very forgetful. Sometimes i apply for things and totally forget bout them. Got an e-mail today and WOW kea leboga. Promise to share soon.

Pleasant evening everyone šŸ˜ƒ

Mido šŸ’ž

 

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